Drastic Measures
by Alex Kade
Summary: Riley's got to get himself out of a little jam.


**A/N: **This was written as a response to a fic prompt over on Live Journal. The prompt was "National Treasure, Riley, electrical fire." It's short because this was on the comment_fic community, which means your return story has to fit within the comments section. So yeah, enjoy my lil Riley-ism. :)

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><p>Riley talked to himself as he scrambled to push a table full of computer equipment across the span of the tiny room he was in.<p>

"'You'll be fine,' he says," he grumbled as he strained to give one big shove. His feet slid out from under him as the table shifted forward a few inches, and he let out a startled yip as he fell to the floor. With an exaggerated sigh, he stood up, stared at the table as if it were its fault, and pressed his hands against it to try again. He continued to rant at himself as he resumed pushing. "When I get home, I'm highlighting the word 'fine' in every one of your big, fat, fancy dictionaries. Who even _uses_ a dictionary anymore? That's what the internet is for!"

There was a shuffling sound outside the door and he stopped what he was doing to listen for a minute. When whoever was there moved on, he let out the breath he had been holding and continued with his goal, muttering in a mock voice, "'Hey, let's pick on that Riley guy. He looks like a fun person to kidnap and lock up in a room with no internet access; and, hey, while we're at it, let's make him unlock the most ridiculously impossible code ever written without an algorithm.'" He laughed a little bitterly, and the table inched a little further across the floor. "That's like asking me to recreate Mr. Happy Burger's special sauce without knowing the secret ingredient. Stupid program-illiterate super villains. Why can't someone who understands my needs ever kidnap me? ...Because if they understood this stuff they really wouldn't _need_ to kidnap me in the first-" The table slid forward another several inches, creating a scratching sound that made him cringe. "-place."

Standing up straight, he looked at his progress for a second before nodding to himself and reaching for the varying cords on all the equipment he had piled up. "You...you...and you," he counted to the three biggest cables, taking another quick glance at the power outlet on the wall that he was aiming for. It had an adapter hooked into it to allow only three plug-ins, which was more than enough for what he needed. Using his teeth, he began to tear holes in the rest of the cords, carefully pulling out and stripping the wires inside. "Also," he speculated as he began twisting wires from the all the computer equipment together, "I think I need to print out a description of 'damsel in distress' - make that several copies - and tape them to everything you look at on a daily basis. Including the inside of your windshield."

He shot a glance up at the fire alarm system floating above his head and seemed to consider the intelligence of what he was about to do. With a shrug, he picked up the three ends of the chords he had merged together and walked them towards the outlet. "Why can't there ever be anyone around when I'm about to do something recklessly awesome that could probably get me killed?" he asked himself, then took a deep breath. "Hakuna Matata."

Without another thought, he shoved the plugs into the outlet one at a time, lifting an arm up to protect himself from the fountain of sparks erupting from both the wires and the machines. The last chord sent a burning jolt right through his arm and he stumbled back, wincing as he watched small flames crawling up the wall from the outlet, and engulfing the equipment on the table; the plastic cases melting into a shapeless mass of computer goo. As the fire began to grow with alarming speed, he pushed himself from the floor and pressed up against the far wall of the room. "Okay, fire alarm, now would be a good time to go off," he reminded the supposed safety tool on the ceiling. "Please" he begged, watching the little red light blinking at him in mocking silence.

**_~NT~NT~NT~NT~NT~_**

Ben and Abigail rushed through the line of police tape towards the old office building that had completely gone up in flames. An officer stopped them, holding them back and being completely unhelpful as they tried to explain that they thought a friend was in there.

"Oh, hey guys, you come down to watch the fireworks?" a familiar voice said from behind them.

They turned to see Riley, his skin and clothes mottled with black soot and ash, a bandage wrapped around his hand from his palm down to just below his wrist, and happily licking a vanilla ice cream cone.

"Riley, thank God," Ben breathed as he and Abigail rushed to give him a hug.

"Hey, hey! Watch the cone!" he warned as he held his ice cream out of the way of the onslaught.

Ben pulled back and held Riley out at arm's length. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Well, I would say I'm fine, but in lieu of teaching you a lesson about the exact definition of the word, I'm just going to point to my burned hand and my skin which is now a disturbing shade of gross, and tell you that I'm _okay_ instead of _fine_. I also just wanted to point out that I'm now single-handedly responsible for the capture of Tolsen and his gang of merry men. As in, by myself, all on my own, thanks for offering to help but it's obvious I can handle myself. How's _that_ for a damsel in distress?"

Abigail furled her eyebrows. "Riley...did you...did you do this?" she asked, pointing back at the burning building.

"Hey, sometimes when the plan goes down the drain, you have to improvise," he said with a shrug, and began to head towards Ben's car.

"You burned down a building, Riley," Ben scolded, chasing after him.

Abigail laughed and shook her head, making a mental note never to allow Riley to improvise again. And never call him the damsel in distress.

_**The End!**_


End file.
